


This Body's Yours and This Body's Mine

by lavenderseaslug, missparker



Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: F/F, F/M, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/missparker/pseuds/missparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why should she have to pick, when she could have both? She’s had a lifetime of choosing, and she’s old enough now to decide that she doesn’t have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Body's Yours and This Body's Mine

_Well hold on, my darling_  
_This mess was yours,_  
_Now your mess is mine_  
  
**Mess is Mine**   **\- Vance Joy**

 

*

 

By the time Lieutenant Flynn gets up the courage to actually ask his boss out on a date, one that they both know is a date, Sharon is expecting it. She isn’t caught off guard, and she doesn’t feel ambushed. Instead she accepts his invitation warmly and squeezes his hand reassuringly, because she can tell how uncomfortable he is.

They have dinner. It’s nice, it’s natural, it’s everything she expected their dinner to be. There are no surprises with this man, and that’s a relief. She thinks that she's had enough surprises for one lifetime, that she could use a little stability. The only surprise is that stability should come in the form of this man.

He walks her to her door, cocks his head and asks, “Is the kid home?” and she nods, a little wistfully. So he kisses her softly, almost tentatively and says good night, a light caress of her shoulder before his hand drops and he walks to the elevator.

She lets herself in and sees her son sitting on the couch, his books spread out, his phone in his hands, clearly not even pretending to do his schoolwork anymore. “How was your date?” he says, without looking up, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

“Good. It was good. We had a nice time.” She sets her keys down and moves a notebook over so she can join Rusty on the couch.

“Chief Johnson called while you were out,” he says, finally putting down his phone. “Said not to worry about the time and call back when you’re free.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Such a popular woman, Sharon!” She laughs and pushes his shoulder gently before standing to find her own phone and return the other woman’s call.

She gets Brenda’s answering machine and leaves a succinct message with her cell phone number at the end so that Rusty won’t be able to monitor any more back and forth between them. She’s not sure why, but Sharon would rather keep her correspondence with Brenda private.

\---

When Brenda returns Sharon’s call, it’s a week later, and Sharon has figured out why she wants to keep their interactions secret. She thinks, maybe, that Brenda’s invitation for coffee is more than just meeting up as friends. She can sense the hesitation in her tone, and Sharon is good enough at her job that she can tell that there’s more to this meet-up than Brenda would have her believe.

When she arrives at the chintzy coffee shop and sees Brenda sitting prettily on a floral-upholstered chair, Sharon’s breath catches in her throat. She’d always thought that Brenda was attractive, but there’s something about the sun haloing her head through the window and the soft pink of her cardigan that takes her by surprise. The hardness that had overtaken the chief in the last year of her employment with the LAPD has gone away and she looks almost approachable. Sharon sees why people underestimate her - she doesn’t look like she should be able to do what she does.

“I ordered two coffees. Cream and sugar’s on the table, wasn’t sure how you took it,” Brenda says.

Sharon smiles as Brenda empties four sugar packets into the coffee in front of her, says nothing and just sips her black coffee, leaving a halfmoon of dark lipstick on the white lip of the cup. Brenda’s spoon clinks against her own cup, stirring the sugar and cream in until it’s the color of caramel. Brenda licks the spoon before setting it daintily on her saucer.

“How’s Fritz?” she asks finally, breaking the silence, but Brenda’s long pause only makes the silence seem longer. She’s searching for what to say and that, Sharon thinks, is the most interesting moment of an already interesting situation.

“He’s fine, I think. Haven’t seen him much since my promotion. Since my mama-” Her voice breaks here and Sharon’s hand is immediately on hers, without thought. Yes, Sharon thinks. There is more here than mere friendship.

Brenda clears her throat. “He’s fine. Busy. We’re both busy. I don’t...we don’t have much time for each other anymore. Been staying at a friend’s house, actually. It’s an easier commute.” Sharon is exceptionally good at reading between the lines and knows what separation, and inevitable divorce, looks like.

“Well, I’m glad you made time for me today,” she says, without any bite to her tone, only warmth. She feels very glad to be back in this woman’s orbit, and she gives Brenda’s hand a squeeze to drive that fact all the way home.

\---

Little dates with Brenda become a regular thing. Coffee, movies, lunch. Quiet conversations under cover of acoustic music, hands gently touching across the table, easily mistaken for friendly comforting if the wrong person saw them. Dinners with Andy are the norm, all candlelight and flowers, because he is a very traditional suitor. They get knowing smiles from Major Crimes when they leave work together, but both of them find it hard to care as he pushes the button for the elevator and lets her get in first.

Kisses with Andy come easy, no guilt, no second thoughts. His tongue slides into her mouth like it was meant to do just that, like that’s his tongue’s sole purpose. He always tastes fresh, like salad or fruit. She no longer orders wine with dinner, she still kicks herself over the awkward moment when she looked to him for his drink order, somehow forgetting that Andy is a recovering alcoholic. She's more careful after that, doesn't want to have to worry about the taste of wine in her mouth when he kisses her goodnight.

He edges into her life with ease, she expands her world to include him without really thinking. She's shared her life for so long that making room for him isn't difficult at all. It's buying extra milk and more lettuce. It's making sure she hasn't left her delicates hanging in her bathroom, it's shaving her legs more than she used to, when it was just her and Rusty.

Rusty walks in on them once, when Andy’s hand is working its way under Sharon’s shirt and her leg is over his. Rusty lets out a yelp and claps a hand over his eyes, and the two adults fumble for some shred of respectability as he excuses himself, locking his bedroom door behind him.

Rusty makes sure to be out of the house whenever she goes out with Andy now. He’s had enough emotional scarring in his life, he tells Sharon. He doesn’t need to see old people making out on top of all of it.

Kissing Brenda is a slow process. It begins with pecks on the cheek when they greet one another and then again, when they say goodbye. Once, Sharon’s lips hit the corner of Brenda’s mouth accidentally. The next time, they hit the corner of her mouth on purpose.

Sharon had kissed girls in high school because that’s what you did when you went to an all girls Catholic school. She’d liked it then, had liked it well enough that she didn’t care to admit it to any of her friends who’d pulled away from the kisses with scrunched up noses, giggling uncomfortably. She’d kissed girls in college too, not for practice but for pleasure and because they were all embroiled in the new wave of feminism, anyway. What was a kiss between girls when bras were getting burned and they were marching up and down the street in protest of the lives their mothers had led?

But Sharon is grown now and she finds that kissing Brenda is kissing a woman and it’s somehow a new experience. Sharon is careful and while she doesn’t think twice about inviting Andy up to the condo for a cup of coffee or a slice of pie, with Brenda, they only ever kiss in the car. After all, Brenda is still married and Sharon’s not sure Rusty can take walking in on his mother and the woman who rescued him just yet. Their dates are always thrilling and unfamiliar and feel so fresh. They hug each other goodbye in the daylight, they bump shoulders as they walk, they sit on the same side of the table at restaurants. She likes Brenda, likes her enough that if there weren’t kisses or entwined fingers or bare knees brushing beneath the tablecloth, they’d still do all of these things together. They’d still be friends.

Still, there’s something comforting about dating two people at the same time, Sharon thinks. That’s how she rationalizes it to herself, because in the back of her mind, there’s a nagging voice that won’t let her forget her religious upbringing, the voice that kept her married to Jack Raydor for twenty years, the voice that surfaced any time she ever had sex with someone who wasn’t her husband.

But it’s hard to listen to that voice when she thinks of the solid comfort of Andy Flynn’s arms and the delicate embrace of Brenda Johnson. Why should she have to pick, when she could have both? She’s had a lifetime of choosing, and she’s old enough now to decide that she doesn’t have to.

\---

Even though Rusty doesn’t ever see Brenda, it doesn’t take long for him to ask her about it. He corners her in the kitchen, a black spatula in one of his hands and he points at her with it and says, “I know what you’re doing, Sharon.”

“Oh?” she says. “What’s that.”

“Having your cake and eating it too,” he says. “Dinner with Andy. Movies with Brenda.”

Sharon sips her coffee and says nothing.

“She sent you flowers,” he says, pointing to the cheerful bouquet of spring flowers - purple irises, yellow buttercups, white tulips all vibrant and cheery. They’d arrived to the condo, not to the office, for which Sharon had been profoundly grateful.

“Did you read my card?” Sharon asks.

“Yes,” he says without apology.

“Hmm,” she says.

“Actually,” he says, turning back to the stove and prodding at the omelette in the pan. “I think it’s kind of cool.”

“You do?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “You were married for like so long and it was to Jack. Why not have some fun?”

“Hmm,” she says again.

“You don’t have to hide Brenda from me, Sharon,” he says. “I don’t care if you’re gay. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” she parrots back dryly but he smiles and she does too, her lips twitching.

“Do they know?” he asks. “About each other.”

“Lieutenant Flynn and Chief Johnson have know one another for years,” Sharon says.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “And you know it.”

She looks down into her mug at the dregs of her coffee and sets it carefully on the counter so the porcelain doesn’t clink against the granite.

“I have to go to work,” she says.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says.

She picks up her purse, slings it over her shoulder. It’s already too warm for a jacket so she drapes her blazer over her arm and clutches at her keys before tilting her head at him.

“Rusty,” she says.

“Don’t worry,” he says, deftly slipping the omelette onto his waiting plate. She looks at it longingly but there’s no time for that. “I won’t say a thing.”

He’s gotten a little taller so she leans in and kisses his cheek instead of the top of his head, just a peck before she rushes out the door.

\---

His words stay with her throughout the day. She wonders if Andy talks to Brenda now that he doesn't work with her. She wonders if they even like each other outside of the walls of this building. She wonders why that matters.

It shouldn't matter. She isn't doing anything that should make it matter to either one of them. Andy doesn't ask who she saw the latest Oscar-nominated movie with, and Brenda doesn't ask how Sharon knows if that Italian restaurant is any good. There's no need for her right hand to know what her left hand is doing.

But still. She wouldn't like it if Brenda was dating someone else. She would be jealous if Andy was bringing another person to his grandsons' ballet recitals. Wouldn't they feel the same way? Sharon tries to imagine the conversation where she casually tells Andy that she's also dating a woman. She almost writes out a practice dialogue, like a script, though she knows that Andy can be too hot-headed to follow any predictable formula.

She thinks Brenda would take the whole thing much more in stride. Brenda is, after all, married still. She also wonders if Brenda would look at her with hurt in those dark eyes if Sharon told her what was going on, and somehow that seems harder to bear than Andy's anger.

Status quo is something to be valued, she finally decides, when the day has flown past her without her really registering it at all. She can keep doing what she's been doing; no one is getting hurt and no one is being overlooked. If something in the equation shifts, then perhaps she'll need to reexamine the situation.

Her phone buzzes and she swipes the screen to read Andy's confirmation of their dinner plans that evening. It buzzes again, this time it's Brenda asking if she's free for a movie after work. Sharon sighs. It's a juggling act, and not one she's used to. She types back a quick _Can't wait_  to Andy and a _Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow?_ to Brenda. Status quo. Better to be busy than doing nothing at all. She’d done nothing for so long, nothing but wait for Jack to clean himself up and come home and now she’s done waiting. No longer will she be Hannah at her window, binding shoes, faithfully waiting for the ship that isn't coming back from sea.

Brenda texts her all through dinner and even though she ignores her purse buzzing softly, eventually Andy says, “Do you need to get that?”

“No,” she says. “It can wait.”

And it can. That’s one of the great things about Brenda - she’ll text into the void and not get insecure about it. Maybe because she knows that Sharon has a job where anything can happen and she can’t always be glued to her phone when there’s a body at her feet. And Sharon always does get back to Brenda, even if not right away. In the car, when she’s feeling full on bread and sauce and a little sluggish, she pulls out her phone and scrolls through the messages. Brenda is obviously bored at home and is watching some trainwreck of a movie made for television, talking about the terrible characters and an increasingly hard to follow plot.

“What?” Andy says.

“What?” she says back, glancing up and tilting the phone away from him, just a little.

“You’re smiling,” he says.

“Nothing,” she says and then feels guilty about being secretive. “Just something silly.”

“I like silly,” he says. “Rusty?”

“No,” she says, trying to keep her voice nice and even. “Brenda.”

Because the thing about secrets is, they’re better kept if there aren’t any lies. Withholding information isn’t the same as telling outright fabrications and she’s a big proponent of honesty. She’s being honest with herself, for once, and the truth is she likes Andy and she likes Brenda, too. She likes how secure Andy makes her feel - his big hand on the small of her back, the smell of his spicy cologne, the scruff of his whiskers across her cheek.

But she really likes Brenda, especially now that they’re on more even footing. No rank, no titles. Just soft lips and long hair and shared laughter. Brenda is fun and it makes Sharon feel fun, too.

Andy’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel and he says, “The Chief?” The air becomes almost tangibly charged between them.

“We’ve been…” Sharon fumbles for the right word. “We’ve been spending time together.” She doesn’t know how to qualify it to Andy, she’s not ready to.

“Is she who you see movies with?” he asks, and she can feel the jealousy seep from him.

“Yes,” she says, simply and honestly. She doesn’t have to explain herself. He turns into the parking garage beneath her building, into the spot he always uses and turns off the car. Sharon reaches to open her door, but his hand on her arm stays her. Turning to face him, he slides the hand up her arm, under her hair and gently pulls her in for a kiss. She thinks he’s told himself that he’s being crazy, that she isn’t also dating a woman. She thinks this might make it harder when she tells him the truth.

She pushes the guilt aside, reminding herself that there’s no reason to feel guilt. She nods her head towards the elevator and Andy takes his cue, following her up to her condo.

As the elevator doors shut with a ding, Andy fishes a condom from his wallet, because he’s not naive. Sharon snorts. “You’re not at risk of getting me pregnant. Or of contracting an STD.” He laughs and they’re close enough that she can feel the vibration of him through her shirt. Sharon leans back slightly with a hum in her throat, breathing in his scent. She takes the condom from his hands and drops it in the trash can outside the elevator as they exit on her floor.

This is the first time Sharon has invited him into her home with the intention of bringing him into her bedroom. The air is thick between them, he can’t get close enough to her, she doesn’t want to push him away. Sharon tries to remember how neat she was when she left for work, but as soon as the door closes behind them, Andy’s mouth is on her neck and she forgets to care.

She is passive at first, letting him lead. It means she finds herself divested of clothing long before he is, but she enjoys the enthusiasm with which he explores the newly uncovered expanse of skin. She would feel self-conscious except for the unspoken appreciation in Andy’s eyes. They are both worn with age, imperfect in their wrinkles, but it doesn’t seem to dim any of his eagerness. They move slowly backwards, as if drawn inexorably to her bed. She’s grateful for the unspoken understanding that for right now, there are to be no sexual gymnastics, just the two of them, in her bed.

Andy doesn’t seem to know where to start, hands flitting from her breasts to her waist to her hair, overwhelmed by the possibilities in front of him. She smiles at him fondly, takes his hands in hers and places a soft kiss on his knuckles. His progress halted for the moment, she makes quick work of his buttons, his shirt dropping to the floor, her fingers lightly scraping the hair on his chest. She’d seen the hints of it before now, but to have it underneath her palms is a new experience. As he steps out of his pants, toeing off his socks, Sharon slides back on the bed, head on the pillows, waiting for him to join her.

The bed dips as he slides next to her, gathering her in his arms again, and she thrums to the feel of his large hands cradling her, his arms surrounding her. His kisses are insistent and eager, and she can feel him harden against her as she slides her tongue along the crease of his lips. They smile together, an awkward sensation that she can’t help but love.

She guides him in, feels herself expand. He is gentle with her. It’s been a while for them both, and they’ve been dancing around this inevitable conclusion for far too long. He quickens his pace, expelling small grunts with every thrust. Sharon is quiet, but not passive any longer. She nudges him with her thighs, rolling them so she is above him, her hands at his shoulders, her legs on either side of him. He looks up at her with blatant adoration, and she feels a blush subsume her.

And then she’s setting the pace, slow deep thrusts, and he’s matching her. Her breath is coming quickly, short gasps as she relishes in the feeling. She lets herself collapse against him as she comes, feels his arms come around her as he bucks a few more times before letting out a guttural sound followed by a rush of warmth between them. He looks sheepish, then says, “A condom would’ve helped with that,” and Sharon laughs, her breasts bouncing slightly against him.

She rolls onto her side, and Andy immediately spoons at her back. These are reflexes left over from long marriages, the comforts of sharing a bed with someone you care about. His arm slides under hers, across her bare stomach and she flinches slightly, ticklish and still feeling a little sensitive and a little raw, but clasps his hand in hers, holding on tight.

\---

Rusty calls when she and Brenda are parked around the corner, prolonging the inevitable end of their evening. While she and Andy are growing comfortable and compatible, with Brenda she’s still nursing the anticipation. They lean in, mouths meeting, but they’ve been doing other things, too. Holding hands, talking, listening to the radio on low, the music more for ambiance and to cover the sound of the occasional car passing them.

Sharon is looking forlornly at the clock on the dashboard of Brenda’s car when her phone starts to ring in her purse. It’s Rusty’s ringtone, the one he’d picked out for himself that sounds like flying saucers coming to abduct her and Brenda barks out laughter.

“Shush,” Sharon says. “Hello?”

Rusty is calling to let her know that he’s going to stay overnight in Santa Monica with some friends - that his project is due in the morning and they have more work ahead of them.

“Have I met these friends?” Sharon asks. “What kind of place do they live in?”

“It’s two girls,” Rusty says.

“Ah! Well then,” Sharon says. “Okay. See you in the morning.”

She watches Brenda watch her tuck her phone away and then says, “Rusty isn’t coming home.”

Brenda breathes in, says, “Oh?”

“School project,” she says.

“Ah,” Brenda replies her hands tightening on the steering wheel. “Where should I park?”

“What?” Sharon asks.

“Do you have guest spots or is the street okay?”

“Oh,” Sharon says.

“Because if you don’t invite me up, Sharon, I just don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be pretty.”

And she does look serious about it, twisting the key in the ignition and squirming in her seat.

“There’s guest parking,” Sharon says. Brenda, strangely, chooses the exact same spot to park in that Andy always picks. She’s sure it doesn’t mean anything.

Brenda is restless in the elevator, bumping into her, trying to snag Sharon’s fingers with her own. She’d shove Sharon against the wall and stick a hand up her skirt if she thought she could get away with it but there are cameras everywhere in this building so Sharon keeps edging away, trying to maintain a little buffer.

Brenda doesn’t try to make small talk, though, doesn’t bother with something she’s not good at. She just waits the eleven floors, follows Sharon down the hall with determination, her purse over her shoulder, an ever-fixèd mark.

Andy was here two nights ago. She’d invited him in, they’d shared a french press of decaf coffee and a large cupcake from one of the bakeries she likes. Big enough that they’d picked at it with forks. His kisses had tasted sweet for a while, like the pale icing, like the little flower spun out of sugar. He’d followed her to the bedroom, had tucked a pillow beneath her hips, had run his hand down her leg before hitching it up and sliding into her.

So when they get inside and Brenda’s mouth on her is hot and insistent, all she can really think about is that she can’t let Brenda into her bedroom until she changes the sheets.

It’s too easy to sink into the kiss; Brenda is a good kisser. She’s relentless and focused and so soft. It’s not until she feels her back hit the wall that she remembers to stop, that she wrenches her mouth away and says, “You want some wine?”

“No,” Brenda answers and moves their mouths back together.

They can turn the corner and head toward the bedroom or move forward and aim for the couch. Sharon nudges their bodies toward the living room and they almost upset the lamp when her thigh catches on the corner of the end table and she swears at the hurt. She’ll have a bruise there for sure. It does something for Brenda, though, because she groans and yanks Sharon’s shirt from the waist of her skirt. Slips her hands under and then groans again when she feels skin.

“I… I have pie,” Sharon says.

Brenda’s hands tighten for a moment and then she pulls back just long enough to say, “I don’t want pie, Sharon.”

“Okay, okay,” Sharon says. “But I’m just going to upset myself for just a moment. Just wait here, just…”

Brenda stares at her incredulously as she backs out of the living room.

“Too much water at dinner,” Sharon says. “I’ll be just a second.”

In her bedroom, she yanks the comforter to the floor and most of the pillows go with it. There’s no visible staining on the light sheets but there could be hair or a leftover smell and anyway, she knows they aren’t clean, she knows that if her life were to suddenly become a crime scene, her bed would tell the detectives everything they needed to know.

She pulls off the top sheet and yanks at the corner of the fitted sheet, struggling for a moment to get it to come free.

“What in the hell are you doin’?”

Sharon freezes and then turns slowly. Brenda is standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.

She finishes pulling off the sheet and holds the wad of fabric to her body.

“Just freshening up,” Sharon says.

Brenda crosses her arms, takes half a step back and tilts her head. “It’s okay if you’re not ready, you know.”

“That’s not-” Sharon stops herself. “I’m ready. My bed was not.”

“Okay,” Brenda says, really carefully, like Sharon might have just gone off her meds. “Well we can fix that. You want some help?”

Sharon takes the soiled sheets and shoves them into the hamper against the wall, pushing them way down so they don’t even peek up over the top. Her other set are in the linen closet in the hall but Brenda is still standing in the doorway, blocking the exit.

“There’s wine in the fridge and glasses in the cabinet to the left of it,” Sharon says. “Have a glass of wine with me. I’m almost done here.”

“Sure,” Brenda says.

She disappears down the hall, her heels clicking.

Sharon runs her hand through her hair but her palm is clammy and it catches, several long hairs trapped between her fingers when she lowers her hand. Sheets, she thinks. Sheets and then she can get this evening back on track.

Brenda doesn’t come into the bedroom again while she’s making up the bed - shaking the pillows into fresh cases and smoothing the wrinkles out of the topsheet before putting the comforter back on and then turning it down like an invitation. When she goes back into the living room, Brenda is sitting on the couch drinking wine. Her legs are crossed and her high heel hangs from her toes, her heel bare.

“I guess,” she says, like they’re in the middle of a conversation that Sharon has forgotten. “I thought that maybe you and I were just alike. Just waiting for the right time.”

“The right time for what?” Sharon asks.

“Each other,” Brenda says. “But you aren’t waiting around for me.”

Fear prickles the back of Sharon’s neck. The fear of discovery, the fear that Brenda will turn that sharp skill of hers onto Sharon and take her apart, piece by thin piece.

“Why should I wait?” Sharon says carefully. “You’re right here.”  

Sharon has never done exactly this before but Brenda knows that. Brenda knows a lot about Sharon these days - hours of conversation leading up to this point, this moment where Brenda reaches behind Sharon to find the zipper to her dress. To draw it down slowly, carefully. She says, “Tell me if you need to stop.”

Sharon nods but she’s not going to want to stop. She just wants things to feel balanced, that’s all.

They kiss for awhile, standing in the living room and Brenda’s mouth tastes dark like the wine in her glass, like rich chocolate, like everything decadent Sharon has never let herself indulge in. They kiss and kiss until finally Brenda whimpers and says, “Please.”

In the bedroom, they remove their clothing piece by piece. Blouses unbuttoned, zippers lowered, skirts and shoes and panyhose.

“So pretty,” Brenda says over and over again - about Sharon’s bra, about her skin, her hair, all her different parts. Brenda’s fingers are everywhere, her lips blazing white hot trails across Sharon’s skin. “So pretty, Sharon.”

And it is a revelation of sorts to have someone who appreciates all the effort, understands what it means to find smooth legs, sweet smelling skin in secret places, painted nails and plucked brows. Brenda kisses each dusty pink fingernail and says, “For me?”

Sharon nods, her eyes glassy, surprised to find she’s already panting with desire and Brenda’s barely touched her.

“This too?” she asks, trailing her fingertip along the top of Sharon’s expensive set of lacy underwear. “Were you thinkin’ of me when you put these on?”

In fact, she had been. For men, even Andy who she would not lump in with the category of ‘men’ that every woman speaks of in a snide tone, she wears red or black. Does not waste her time on subtlety. But for Brenda she can pick out something delicate and pale and know it will be admired.

She nods now, cants her hips so Brenda can slip her narrow fingers under the elastic and tug. Brenda kisses her hips, the sensitive patch of skin just below her belly button. Sharon gasps, can’t stop her hips from moving and Brenda gets a wicked smile and moves lower.

“Open your legs, Sharon,” she says.

Sharon isn’t sure she’s going to come. She’s too nervous, too inside her head about it all. She’s having sex with woman, she’s having sex with Brenda! How is she supposed to think about anything else, or better, nothing at all? She’ll fake it, she decides, to spare both of their feelings and even if she doesn’t arrive, so to speak, it’ll still feel amazing.

Sharon comes in the first thirty seconds that Brenda is down there and has to work to make it seem like she hasn’t. Brenda knows, though, Sharon can tell by the way Brenda looks up at her smugly - she knows exactly what just happened. She must think she can do much better because she keeps at it, rhythmic and relentless until Sharon has to beg her to stop, had to twist her hands into Brenda’s hair, groans so loudly and deeply that her throat feels raw.

No, Sharon thinks as she lies awash in pleasurable twitches and shivers, she won’t want to give this up.

Brenda slithers up her body, all pale skin and muscle and curly hair. Takes Sharon’s hand and entwines their fingers, trails them down her stomach to right where she wants them most.

“I’ll show you how I like it,” Brenda says.

Sharon, mouth open and ears ringing, just nods.

\---

Sharon’s life develops a sort of routine. Brenda knows that some nights, Sharon will be otherwise preoccupied. For right now, she’ll accept that without question, but Sharon knows the conversation is on the horizon. Andy, too, wonders about the amount of time she spends with Brenda. Sharon has to figure out how to broach the subject with each of them, almost wonders if it would be easier to bring them together and just have out with it.

In the end, that's what she decides to do. She makes a reservation for three at a nice restaurant. Asks for a table that's not too private, hoping for anything that would dampen the urge from her companions to make a scene. She texts an invite to Brenda, one that is readily accepted, with a winking emoticon to boot. She slides Andy a note with his reports for the day, and sees him nod to let her know he'll be there.

She drives alone, making excuses about needing to check in on Rusty so that neither of her dates will offer to drive. Sharon arrives early. Far too early. She orders a drink at the bar, a martini for liquid courage and gulps it down far too hastily.

"Blind date?" the bartender asks, clearly used to women downing drinks for any number of reasons. Sharon lets out a strangled chuckle, only because she's sure he's never heard her story before.

"Hardly," she says, setting the glass down on the bar with a loud clink. She sees Andy come through the front door, scanning for her. "I'm having dinner with the two people I'm dating. Wish me luck!" She puts too large of a tip down as she walks away from the slack-jawed bartender.

Kissing Andy's cheek in greeting is a habit, but it doesn't feel rote. She inhales his scent before pressing her lips to his scratchy cheek. "We're waiting on one more," she says, gesturing to the bench meant for waiting customers. He looks surprised, and she supposes that's merited.

"Who?" is all he asks, sitting next to her, their thighs touching, his hand resting on her knee, below the hem of her skirt.

"Brenda," is her reply and she can feel an infinitesimal tightening of his fingers on her leg. She knows that she's starting to confirm his fears, that she's been dating around, that she isn't just seeing him. She looks at his face through the curtain of her hair and she can see his jaw is set, and her nerves skyrocket. It's too late to regret this idea now, and Sharon can only let out a small sigh, nudging the man next to her with her shoulder, a gesture that usually brings a small smile to his face. This time it only eases the tension on his face ever so slightly.

Brenda breezes in then, and Sharon's eyes snap to her. That's how it is with them, such a different feel to how she is with Andy, far more electric, but sometimes less comfortable. Brenda meets Sharon's gaze with a smile, then sees Andy next to her and Sharon sees the forced smile take over for the real one. She wishes for a moment that she was back at the bar, then tells herself not to be silly. This is a necessity, and better now than later, better with good food in their stomachs, better together than alone.

She isn't sure what this meal will accomplish, when it comes down to it. The best she can hope for is that the two people she cares about most will be able to understand that right now, she needs both of them and that she doesn't want to choose. Sharon stands, tugging Andy up with her, finding his hand with hers, lacing their fingers together. They walk over to Brenda, and with a breath and a courage she didn't know she had, Sharon reaches out for Brenda's hand as well.

The three of them stand there for a moment, all looking at each other, Sharon's face pink with nerves and excitement.

"Well, this is awkward, isn't it?" Brenda says, "Might as well get settled and we can figure out what's going on here."

Sharon is grateful for Brenda's bluntness, a trait she's never possessed. She drops the two hands she's holding and walks to the hostess. "Raydor, table for three?" And with that, there's no turning back.

The menus provide enough distraction from the awkward tension for a few minutes. Normally, she and Andy would split two entrees between them, but that doesn't seem appropriate now. Although splitting three entrees with her two dates seems like it would be a great idea, until she tries to picture Andy spearing a piece of pasta from Brenda's plate and she feels an absurd stab of jealousy before putting it from her mind.

"I'm getting the chicken," Brenda announces, slightly louder than she needs to be. She closes her menu and sets it in front of her, crossing her arms and resting them on top of it.

"The salad looks good to me," Andy adds, and then they're both looking at Sharon, waiting for her to decide.

The pressure suddenly feels too much and she's glad for the appearance of the waiter with fresh bread. She hides her head in the menu for as long as she can, even though she'd decided on the salmon from the moment she saw it listed.

She feels Andy's foot under the table, nudging her gently. He's telling her he's not mad, he's more curious than anything else. Brenda's hand drifts towards Sharon's elbow, a small touch, letting Sharon know that whatever happens, it'll be all right.

She's grateful for these people she's let into her life, that they would rather see her comfortable than pester her or villainize her for whatever the situation is.

Finally setting her menu down, Sharon looks at the two people on either side of her. She decides to try a page from Brenda's book, just telling it like it is. "I'm dating both of you," she says after a pause. There's no reaction from her companions and she supposes that's to be expected with the scenario she's presented them. "And I'd like to continue dating both of you. If that's all right with...both of you." She feels awkward and tongue-tied and looks at her hands, now dropped in her lap.

"Are we makin' a schedule or something? I get even days, he gets odds, we switch off every 31st?" Brenda asks and any reply is put to a halt as the waiter comes by to take their order. Tension is radiating from their table and he leaves as soon as he's finished writing down their meals. Sharon can't imagine inviting another person into this meal, even if it's just small talk about food.

"I don't know what this means except I care," she clears her throat, because declarations of affection are difficult when it's not to your child, "I care about both of you very much. And I haven't felt the way I feel in a long time, and it's just rotten timing that it's happening to me for both of you at the same time."

She see Andy size up Brenda and hopes this doesn't turn into some sort of pissing contest, but it's a testament to how much she means the words she's just said that she doesn't know who she'd want to win. "I'm not trying anything out, and I'm not waffling between the two of you. I just. I just want both of you." This pronouncement coincides with the waiter's arrival to pour fresh water in their glasses and Sharon's face turns bright red, though he makes no comment. She wonders if the bartender has spread the news that she's having what will no doubt be an awkward meal.

"Well, I don't think either of us is planning on making you choose," Andy says, joining the conversation for the first time. "I mean, I'm not crazy about the idea of sharing you, but I know that it's not my choice if I want to keep seeing you." Sharon offers him a weak smile, all that she can muster in the face of her nerves.

"I would echo that sentiment, I suppose." Brenda unrolls her silverware from the cloth napkin, not meeting anyone's eyes as she places the napkin in her lap.

"You suppose?" Sharon can't help but echo. Brenda's avoidance is a tactic, she's running through scenarios in her head, Sharon can tell.

"I mean that perhaps there's another arrangement to consider," she says primly, looking up, just as their entrees are placed in front of them, piping hot and steaming.

\---

_Threesome._ The word bounces around in Sharon's head days after their dinner. It seems bizarre, absurd, yet strangely right. She's never wanted to choose, and now Brenda has given her an option that doesn't force her to.

Sharon smiles slightly at the thought of Andy's face going slack at the word coming out of Brenda's mouth. But he hadn't objected. He hadn't given them an enthusiastic yes, however, but she could tell that he was thinking it over. She would catch him staring off into space, and she could only imagine that his brain was filled with thoughts of her. Thoughts of her and him. Thoughts of her and him and Brenda. Her cheeks flush pleasurably with just the idea and she feels a jolt of desire spike through her.

Brenda is silent for a few days after their dinner, not reaching out to Sharon, being surprisingly patient as she attempts to come to a decision, as they both wait for Andy to make his.

And then one morning, almost a week following that shared, awkward meal, Sharon hears the ding of her phone and slides it to see a text from Andy: _I'm in._ She looks up from her desk and catches Andy staring at her. He turns pink and busies himself with paperwork.

She types back quickly _If you can't even make eye contact when you agree to it, are you sure you want to go through with it?_ and sends it, watching Andy from her desk as he reaches for his phone to read her message.

_100%_ is all the reply reads, but Sharon knows Andy well enough to know that he wouldn't commit to anything if he weren't ready to give it his all. She offers him a warm smile, one tinged with the excitement she feels. Now that Andy's sure, she can feel more sure.

Dating two people holds some measure of difficulty, but trying to find a day that works for three people's schedules as well as a day when a certain teenager won't be skulking around feels like a Sisyphean task. Eventually, they find a day. Sharon might have been overly eager in her support of Rusty's overnight stay as a part of a college tour, but she thinks she played it off as general enthusiasm for Rusty's interest in continuing education.

There's a feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she thinks it’s more about anticipation than anything else.

\---

When the night finally arrives, Sharon drinks a glass of wine far too quickly and feels atwitter with tipsy energy. She taps her fingers nervously on the counter, waiting for her guests to ask to be buzzed in.

Brenda is first; they haven't seen each other in a week, and it feels like ages. Text messages and brief emails are no substitute for the real thing and when Sharon enfolds the other woman in a hug, it feels like coming home. Brenda kisses her softly, her tongue tasting the seam of Sharon's mouth, and she pulls away smiling. "You've had wine. You're nervous."

"Aren't you?" Sharon can't imagine not being nervous. She pulls Brenda with her into the living room, pulls her down on the couch next to her, their bodies overlapping and close.

"Nothing to be nervous about. If it goes horribly wrong, I don't have to see either of you ever again." Brenda laughs at the look on Sharon's face. "Of course I'm nervous, sweetie. I want this to work. For all our sakes."

"It'll work," Sharon says with more confidence than she feels. She nuzzles into Brenda's hair, smelling its sweet scent, kissing her through the strands. She reasons that Brenda is still a relatively new experience, and she's had no regrets whatsoever; tonight's new experience won't come with regrets either.

Andy arrives, then, looking slightly harried. Sharon greets him with a hug as well, and then Brenda pushes through all the tension and hugs him, too. "Better get used to touching me," she jokes and Andy manages a laugh. At least they're all nervous together.

"How do we start?" he asks, and though Sharon's at a loss, she leans forward to kiss him, an arm reaching to Brenda, pulling them all close, the heat between all three of them already palpable. Brenda gently nips Sharon's neck, Andy's hands reaching underneath her shirt.

"Let's go to my room," she says, finally, a little breathlessly. Even though she knows Rusty's away for the night, there's still that fear that he will come home suddenly and she wouldn't want him to encounter all three of them in a clinch.

She's leading them, holding them each by a hand, mirroring their position from the restaurant. Her room is dark and she makes no move to turn on the lights.

It's awkward, at first. There's no other word for it. It feels crowded, and for a moment, Sharon regrets inviting these two people into her bedroom. She thinks Brenda must see the flicker of doubt on her face because she leans forward and kisses Sharon squarely on the mouth before pulling her towards the bed. Andy follows dutifully, as though he's yet to be fully convinced that this scenario is real. He must wish he could tell Provenza that he got to spend a night with two women, but because of who those two women are, he can't.  
  
Sharon feels spoiled, almost, when two sets of hands begin undressing her. She realizes that she's the one that brought them all together, that she's the one they're both here to be with, and it's a heady feeling. She distracts herself by loosening Andy's tie, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. Brenda's breath is hot on her neck, and her hands join Sharon's in divesting Andy of his shirt. Sharon's caught in the middle between them and again, it feels too crowded,, but this time it's Andy who kisses away her consternation, and smooths a hand across her hair.  
  
He reaches for Brenda, who doesn't shy away. She was never one to back down, and she meets Andy's gaze head on, removing her cardigan with steady hands and stepping out of her skirt. Sharon sits on the bed, legs crossed delicately, clad only in a bra and panties, watching the two people in front of her slowly and deliberately undress. She muffles a snort, how ridiculous this must seem. Three old people who couldn't make it work with their spouses turn to each other. Who would believe it.  
  
The bed dips as they sit on either side of her. Brenda's mouth is on Sharon's neck, Andy's hands are tracing the curve of her bra. She closes her eyes, gives into the sensation. She can't be worried about if she's kissed Andy as many times as she's kissed Brenda, or keeping score of how many times she's reached her hand into whose underpants. She has ten fingers and one mouth and she'll do what she can with all of that, and the rest will just come together.  
  
She cups Andy gently and he groans; he's been hard for a while, since he saw Brenda and Sharon kiss for the first time. Her nails scrape against him lightly and he buries his face in her hair. Brenda laughs quietly and reaches her hand between Andy and Sharon to feel his erection and he bucks into their shared grasp. Hands are everywhere, then, fingers curling inside Sharon, inside Brenda, sliding along Andy. Mouths are hot and wet against sweaty skin. It feels crowded, but it feels good and right and Sharon wonders why she hasn't been doing this for years.

She pulls back, away from the two people in front of her, and Brenda sizes up Andy, then pulls him in for a kiss. Sharon feels a shot of relief, glad that these two people find each other attractive as well. It's too heavy a burden to be the only one they're both attracted to. She feels, too, a shot of jealousy, because while it's good that they're all in this together, she does want to be the most desired, the most sought after. She sees their tongues collide, hears Andy's groan of pleasure, Brenda's sigh of happiness, and she feels content.

Sharon reaches for Brenda's waist, sliding her hand slowly down between Brenda's thighs and she shivers, nudging Sharon's hand closer to where she wants to feel it most, breaking away from Andy's mouth to look down at her.

They're arranged, then, with Sharon in the middle, Andy on one side and Brenda on the other. As Sharon lets her fingers explore Brenda, Andy slowly slides in from behind, a new angle that makes Sharon shift slightly to accomodate. A hiss escapes her as she arches back into the man behind her even as Brenda arches into Sharon's touch. He's thrusting gently and she's matching her hand strokes with his, and they're all panting, almost in time. Sharon bites into Brenda's neck, overwhelmed by sensation, then laves the marks of her teeth with her tongue. Andy's breath is hot on Sharon's neck, Brenda flings an arm across Sharon's stomach, her fingers just barely touching Andy's side. One of his hands is anchoring Sharon, massaging her breasts, pinching her nipples, but his free hand grasps Brenda's and pulls it towards his mouth, gently sucking her digits into his mouth, one at a time.

The closeness is wonderful and unbearable all at once, and Andy thrusts violently as he comes, and Sharon follows him over the edge, bringing Brenda with them as she twists her fingers against her sensitive core. Andy pulls away, lying on his back, hand over his eyes, out of breath.

Brenda gives Sharon a wicked look and Sharon can only watch helplessly as Brenda moves down her body, her mouth kissing a trail downwards, her tongue hitting its destination with incredible accuracy. Sharon's moan alerts Andy to the fact that the two women aren't finished, and he rolls back onto his side, his hands back on Sharon's breasts. She feels alive with sensation, alive with want, alive with pleasure. Brenda licks and nips and applies the same tenacity that she does everywhere else to this task and Sharon is powerless to resist, flying apart with a hiss and a hum, then folding in on herself, overcome.

Brenda wipes her mouth on the sheet, and lays herself next to Sharon, her head curled towards the other woman. She gently brushes hair from Sharon's forehead and places a soft kiss there. Brenda rests her hand on the curve of Sharon's waist. Andy's hand bumps into hers as he molds himself to Sharon's back, but he only slides his hand along Brenda's arm and gives her a gentle squeeze. They're all too warm and sticky to think of pulling the quilt over them, but they're sated and happy.

Sharon hears the breathing of her two companions slow, feels the weight of their joined arms over her and can't imagine a more perfect moment. She burrows her face into the pillow, smelling the mixture of all three of them in the sheets, and allows herself to sleep, hoping she won't wake in the morning to find it's all a dream.

\---

There is almost a dreamlike quality to Sharon’s life, though, following that first night. It all seems so simple, so easy. It lasts until the exact moment Rusty comes home. He spills into the condo, overnight bag dragging behind him, his shoes untied, his hair unbrushed. He looks like he hasn’t slept in three days but Rusty is a boy who has grown quite adept at running on empty. He’s always too perceptive no matter what state he’s in.

So when he comes in and sees her smiling to herself in the kitchen, he drops all his stuff and says, “Oh, are they still here?”

She has to swallow down the panic, has to school her features carefully, has to count out a few seconds before she says, “Who?”

“Either one,” he asks. She feels relief, feels something give a little.

Chides herself internally. No one can tell she’s slept with two people at once just by looking at her, not even insightful young men who’ve probably done the same. Certainly no one can tell that she’s going to do it again.

She shakes her head. “Just you and me. Did you have fun? Tell me everything.”

She cooks him some breakfast while he talks and then he disappears down the hall to take a shower and sleep off the weekend.

She’s alone again, but it feels different. She searches the condo for clues - for anything left behind or something out of place, but everything looks normal, even in her bedroom. She’s already changed the sheets, made the bed, vacuumed the rug. It’s just her life.

Andy calls her cellphone and she answers with a warm, “Well hello there.”

“Captain,” he says. “We caught a case.”

She’ll have to be more careful, perhaps. If not with physical reminders, if not with objects, then internally at least. She needs to work on when it’s Andy calling or when it’s Lieutenant Flynn and remain neutral up until she knows which is which. Today is going to be telling, though. The first time working together since adding Brenda to the mix. They’ve worked together fine since they’ve started sleeping together, but this feels illicit and it changes things, though she can’t say exactly how.

“Of course,” she says, all business now. “Send me the details.”

She changes her clothes, knocks on the door to Rusty’s room. He doesn’t open it, but she calls through the wood that she has to work and he at least acknowledges that she’s going away. The day is warm and while earlier it had seemed sunny and lovely and clear, when she steps out of her building, she realizes that it’s hot, a little humid, and more than a bit smoggy.

Just one body at her Sunday crime scene and it’s Provenza who catches her up, not Andy who is in the middle of speaking to one of the neighbors. Sharon twists her knees and squats to look at the body more closely - a move she’d picked up from watching Brenda at crime scenes, Brenda who never seemed to topple in tight skirts and heels.

“Why is this our case?” Sharon asks, looking at the gunshot wound, the scraped knuckles, the untied shoes. Just like Rusty this morning.

“He’s three days shy of his eighteenth birthday and children make it-”

“A major crime,” she finishes softly.

\---

Brenda asks Sharon to go house hunting with her. Sharon’s not sure whether or not she’d ever been truly staying with a friend - who is Brenda friends with that Sharon doesn’t know? - but eventually it came out that she was living in an Extended Stay. Sharon feels for her. Getting out of a marriage is like moving to another country. Everything just seems impossible to navigate. You always feel lost.

So when Brenda floats the idea, Sharon readily agrees. She thinks Brenda needs a stable influence to stop her from making an offer on the first house she sees, or, worse, yelling at a realtor who’s only trying to do his job. Sharon offers to drive, because she’s curious about where Brenda’s been living. She swings by her place, a cold, sweet, covered-in-whipped-cream coffee drink waiting in her cupholder. Brenda’s already waiting for her, gives Sharon a bright smile, slides easily into the passenger seat of Sharon’s car, like they’ve been doing this for years.

“This for me?” she asks, grabbing the condensing cup, taking a long sip through the straw without waiting for Sharon’s answer.

“Who else in this car would drink that?” Sharon replies with an eyeroll and a smile and Brenda just grins and leans into the headrest, like a cat who got the cream.

Brenda has a list of a few addresses, all of them closer to Sharon than her current residence. When Sharon points it out, Brenda just says, “I’m just tryin’ to save gas money. If I’m gonna be going over there all the time, might as well be close by.”

“All the time?” Sharon’s eyebrows raise delicately and she smirks at Brenda. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.” She gets a smirk in return - why shouldn’t Brenda be sure of herself.

It’s a good day for house-hunting. The sun is bright, it’s not too warm, every house looks welcoming and full of possibility. If the realtor thinks anything of the two women looking at houses together, he doesn’t say anything.

Brenda uses her charm to get the realtor to stay downstairs while she and Sharon go up to look at the master bedroom. Sharon lets out a comical whistle at the bedroom, sunlight streaming in through tall windows, a large en suite visible through a slightly open door. She wanders through, Brenda following. Brenda runs her fingers along the windowsill, looks up at the crown moulding along the ceiling. Sticks her head into the closet while Sharon checks out the bathroom.

“Look at that tub,” she whispers into Sharon’s ear, suddenly close, and Sharon’s breath catches in her throat. “Big enough for three.” She turns to see Brenda’s wide grin, dark eyes, and feels like she’s just prey in the eyeline of a shark.

Sharon’s phone buzzes before she can say anything to Brenda, and she slides her finger across the screen to see a message from Andy. _Free tonight?_

“Are you free tonight?” she asks Brenda, who thinks for a minute, then nods. “Andy is too.” And there it is, out there, between them. They’re going to do this again. Brenda leans in, kisses Sharon, soft and slow, pulls back just enough that she can look into Sharon’s eyes.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Sharon listens hard for a moment, feeling caught up and foolhardy. She can hear the realtor faintly downstairs, moving around. She bumps the door to the bathroom closed with her hip and leans against it, shooting Brenda with an appraising look. “Want to warm up?” she asks in what she hopes is a seductive manner. Underneath her bravado, she can’t believe she’s doing this, but she also knows she won’t stop unless Brenda tells her to.

“Here?” Brenda asks, but she’s already moving towards Sharon, already reaching for her hips, and Sharon’s wishing she hadn’t chosen jeans for this outing. Brenda slides her hands into the back pockets of Sharon’s pants, cants their hips together and gives Sharon a warm, open-mouthed kiss. Sharon skims her hands under Brenda’s t-shirt, fiddles with the waistband of her yoga pants.

“Here,” Sharon confirms, nosing into Brenda’s neck, sliding her hands along Brenda’s backside, taking the stretchy fabric of her pants with her. Brenda’s unbuttoned her jeans, but her movements stop when Sharon’s fingers find their way under the elastic of her underpants. Sharon feels bold, she feels powerful, she feels wanton, and she wants to bring Brenda along.

She thinks Brenda’s realized that this is all about her today, because Brenda has stopped trying to undress Sharon and instead is pulling off her own shirt, her pink bra at odds with her orange panties. Sharon smirks and begins to kiss a trail down Brenda’s smooth stomach. Brenda always feels so warm and alive and Sharon thinks no one would ever have labeled her an ice queen.

She maneuvers them so Brenda is against the door now, her hand gripping the handle as Sharon starts to remove her underpants, her mouth breathing hot before the cool breeze from the house has a chance to hit her newly bared skin.

They’re quiet and fast and illicit and new and exciting and Sharon feels more turned on than she’s felt in a while, and she’s someone who just slept with two people in one night. But Brenda is still all new, and all discovery and Brenda makes her feel like anything is possible. Sharon licks and nips, and savors Brenda’s taste, and all Brenda can do is bite her lower lip and grip the door handle like a life line.

There’s a knock at the door, then, and Sharon muffles a “damn!” in Brenda’s thigh because she’d forgotten there was a person roaming around that might be concerned about their whereabouts.

“Yes?” Brenda calls, her voice surprisingly steady as she looks down at Sharon between her legs with a slightly panicked look in her eyes.

“How’s it coming in there?” The realtor sounds suspicious, sounds like he’s seen couples disappear into bathrooms too many times to count.

“I just couldn’t hold it, hope you don’t mind I used the bathroom. I’ll make sure to flush!” Brenda is all sweetness and Southern charm. “Sharon had to run to her car for something, but we’ll meet you in the living room soon.” Her dismissal is clear and firm and kind and Sharon can’t help but smile as she hears the receding footsteps.

“The moment’s lost, a little,” Brenda admits, bending down and kissing Sharon. She knows Brenda’s right, but can’t help feeling a little defeated. A moment of defiance and excitement ruined by the practicalities of the real world. To Sharon, it feels a little too much like a bad omen of things to come. She kisses Brenda once more, takes the offered hand to help her stand, and sets about making it look like she wasn’t just kneeling between another woman’s legs.

Sharon reaches for the door handle when Brenda says, “Don’t forget your fly,” her voice warm and happy, laughter lurking on the edges.

“We’ll finish this tonight,” Sharon promises, one last kiss squarely on Brenda’s mouth to seal the deal, and then she watches Brenda flit down the stairs to distract the realtor so Sharon can pretend she was at her car this whole time.

\---

Andy offers to help Brenda move and Sharon finds out about it after. Brenda mentions it in passing and Sharon realizes that Brenda and Andy talk to each other and not through her. On the one hand, why shouldn’t they? They’ve known each other for a long time but on the other hand, it makes her anxious. What if they decide they like each other well enough on their own? What if they decide this is too complicated and Sharon is the complication?

“I can help you move, too,” Sharon says. “And Rusty.”

“Obviously you and Rusty are going to help me move,” Brenda says like this is not even a question. They’re sitting at Sharon’s dining room table and Brenda has her calendar open. “We need to pick a day so Andy can borrow Julio’s truck.”

“Now we’re involving Julio?” Sharon frets.

“We’re certainly involvin’ his truck,” Brenda says. “I was thinking the third and fourth, that’s a weekend, how’s that work for you?”

Sharon pulls out her phone, swipes to open the calendar but is still tripped up. “I just… don’t understand why you would even need a truck.”

“Have you not ever moved?” Brenda asks. Her tone is still light but her expression is borderline concerned. “Were you born here in this condo?”

“No, it’s not… I just didn’t realize you and the division were still so friendly.” She’s careful not to say ‘my division’ because they weren’t always and Brenda would be the first to point it out.

“Oh, I see,” Brenda says.

“No-”

“Maybe it’s better if you and Rusty don’t help, then,” Brenda says, her eyes narrowing and Sharon has seen her go for the jugular enough times to know that’s a bright red flag waving in the wind. “That way I won’t contaminate your division.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Sharon says.

“What exactly did you mean?” Brenda demands.

“I mean,” she says and forces herself to sound much calmer than she feels, “I am not comfortable with my work colleagues knowing about my extremely extraordinary private life.”

Brenda stares at her over the rim of her reading glasses for a moment while she processes this. And then throws her pencil down onto her day planner - why she keeps a paper calendar still is beyond Sharon but that is a discussion for another time - and leans back.

“You’re saying you don’t want everyone to know that you’re sleepin’ with two people at once,” she says.

“Yes.”

“Were you planning on telling them?” Brenda asks.

“No,” she says. “Of course not.”

“And is Andy going to make some sort of general office announcement regarding his penis and your bedroom?”

Sharon rolls her eyes. “No.”

“So you think I’m the weak link.” Brenda pulls off her glasses and hooks them over the neck of her shirt.

“No,” Sharon says. “No one is a weak link, that’s not what I said at all.”

“I can keep your secret,” Brenda says. “I’m not the one who corners people in bathrooms when there are strangers right outside the door.”

“You liked that!” Sharon sputters now, embarrassment flaming up her face.

“I like you,” Brenda corrects, and then leans forward again and picks up pencil. “You moron.”

Sharon is quiet, humble, shamed. Chews the inside of her cheek for a moment and then says, “The third and the fourth is fine.”

“Good,” Brenda says.

\---

They get all the big stuff on Saturday, so they won’t need the truck for Sunday anyhow. Brenda orders pizzas and buys soda and beer and then, one by one, the division starts to head home. Julio and his truck, Mike and Buzz, Amy in her little green car.

Sharon and Rusty hang around, of course. Andy, too.

Eventually, Sharon hands Rusty her car keys and says, “Go home, sweetie. Andy can bring me home later.”

Rusty doesn’t wait around for Sharon to change her mind and then it’s just the three of them.

Pizza, cold bottles of beer. A whole house, a big empty bed.

Brenda heads up the stairs first, then Andy who takes them two steps at a time.

Sharon shrugs off her sweater and follows them up, her heart speeding up in anticipation.

 


End file.
